The Maple Leaf LoveDrag
by Miroheen
Summary: Firstly, Matthew wasn't stalking; he was simply "admiring from afar." Secondly, if Alfred had just minded his own business, Matthew wouldn't have been put through so much humiliation. And thirdly, it's best to never let Francis or any of the other nations get involved with your love life. Formerly known as "Operation Canadian Love Sickness!", I'm starting anew and with dedication!
1. Chapter 1

It was a bit difficult for Aya to ignore it: that strange, nagging feeling that she was being watched. But who could _possibly _find interest in her, picking flowers out from a shop display? _A stalker_, she joked though she hoped to God it wasn't. But if it was not, the where the heck was the uncanny feeling being sourced from?

+ + ҉ + +

He wanted to die. He wanted to take the sharpest twig he could find in his bush-cover, jab it into his heart, and die a slow, painful death and be found curled up in a miserable ball on the sidewalk. At the very least, he wanted his usually neutral bear companion to suddenly become rabid and maul him quickly. But alas, no death of any form met with Matthew Williams and he was left to hate himself for his lowly act of gendering from afar. There was no away to justify this, he told himself. Between the two North American brothers, _he_ was supposed to be the sensitive, more rational one. _He_ was supposed to be the one able to reason right from wrong, normal to creepy.

_Alfred_ was the loud-mouthed, obnoxious one who would jump at any opportunity that included the words "hero", burgers", and "babes." If _Alfred_ saw anything he liked, he would make it known to the world, regardless of the outcome. The world, including that girl. And it was for those particular reasons that poor Matthew couldn't bring himself to accept what he was doing; or do anything else, for that matter. All he could do was continuously stare, admiringly, at what appeared to be a focused Aya from across the street. Huddled in a bush. Smooth.

"Who're you?" the small bear pondered to his master.

Matthew sighed, eyes still focused on the object of his affection. "I'm Canada, Kumajirou," he muttered. The bear looked through the leaves and branches of the bush to the brunette across the street.

"Who's she?" Kumajirou asked.

The Canadian gulped but managed to stutter, "T-that's Aya. In spite of the lack of stability in his answer, both he and his companion couldn't help but notice that it was dripping with hints of adoration.

"Why don't you go talk to her?" the bear inquired. He glanced back at the girl's admirer, only to find the man's face going completely rosy. He could practically see steam spewing from his over-working mind, the gears knocking together like crazy at the overload of problems and concerns involved with the problem.

"I-I can't just go up and start talking to her! She b-barely knows me!" he stammered rapidly. "She . . . She probably wouldn't recognize me. Or remember me, for that matter . . ." Having those words leave his own lips, he simmered down, both in heat, mind, and confidence, the latter of which being already pitifully low. "Nobody ever does. They always think that I'm—"

"Yo, Mattie! What's up with the bush?" Matthew needn't look for the one throwing the question—either because he knew Alfred's voice anywhere or because Alfred managed to lop himself right next to his Canadian sibling without a moment to spare. Rather than answer, Matthew could only bring himself to flail his hands as high as he could allow them without blowing his cover.

"Alfred, keep it down!" he "yelled", though in his case it was only a slightly emphasized whisper. The American ignored him in his typical oblivious manner.

"So what's going on?! You're being weirder than usual! I mean, hiding in a bush is just so _weird_!" he chirped in his rapid voice. _Like you're one to talk_, Matthew mentally scowled as he turned his attention back through the bush. To his dismay, Aya had already gone.

"Darnit," he whispered. In contrast, Alfred's grin only stretched further with understanding.

"Oh, I get it . . ." he sang. He then slapped an arm around his sibling, shaking the poor boy slightly before pulling him into a loving nuggie. "You're _stalking_! Oh, Matty, you sly dog! I didn't know you had it in ya!" Meanwhile, "Matty" was struggling to be free of the assault on his skull, words getting muffled in the tussle. Alfred continued, "I don't know whether to be proud or creeped out by this! I mean, it's you, _stalking_ a chick—"

"I-it's _not_ stalking! I . . . _I'm_ not stalking!" Matthew blurted, somehow managing to fling his brother's arm off of him. By then, his face was red with more than half of his blood. But Alfred being himself wouldn't drop the subject.

"Oh? Then would you care to tell what you _are_ doing?" Translation: "You're going to tell me regardless of what you want, so spill it!"

Matthew sat, on the verge of petrification. If he told his brother, the idiot would end up blurting it out to the entire world! He had to something; lie and say he was bird watching, tying his show and it got stuck, Kumajirou wanted to eat the leaves of the bush! . . . Matthew was supposed to be the honest one.

"I . . . I k-ki-kinda . . . sort of . . . l-l-like—"

"Oho! Mazel tov!" Alfred clapped a hand on his brother's back, practically knocking the wind out of him. "So, who is the lucky lady? I bet she can't keep her hands off of y—"

"A-actually," Matthew gasped. Damn his brother for being so rough! "Actually, I h-haven't talked to . . . her . . . yet . . ." he trailed off. The back-slaps came to an almost immediate halt and the sound of his brother's irritating guffaw died out. For a moment, things were quiet between the two. Normally Matthew would have been relieved for such an occurrence; being related to Alfred almost always equaled constant noise. But in this moment, he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

He sheepishly glanced up at his brother's face, finding a dead smile plastered on his face. It had been alive and cheery up until the confession. The moment it hit the American's ears, it froze up and died, unsure of where to go. It seemed an eternity before Alfred managed to snap out of his stupor and break the silence.

"Why is that?" he asked. Matthew stared, almost wide-eyed. Alfred actually sounded quiet for once.

"W-well," Matthew fidgeted with his fingers. "I don't think I could bring myself to actually do that. I mean, I'm not exactly the most recognizable or memorable guy and—" He paused. The gears in his head turned a few turns. _Wait. _"When did you ever care for my personal life?!" he demanded in his loud whisper.

In an instant, Alfred was back to his usual, smiley self. "I'm not! I'm interested in your love life! I mean, have you ever even actually _boned _a girl before?!"

+ + ҉ + +

Aya stepped out of the coffee shop next to the flower shop, frappe and muffin in hand. She glanced around for a moment. That earlier feeling of being watched had faded since then but she didn't want to take chanced.

"Hrm?" she hummed, settling her eyes on a bush across the street. "That's funny . . ." she commented. _I could've sworn I saw a stream of red shoot out of that bush_. She shrugged, sipped her drink and went on her merry way. _Must've been a ribbon caught in the twigs_.

+ + ҉ + +

"Good God, you're such a wimp!" Alfred hooted. Curled up next to him was his painfully shy brother, failing to nurse his bleeding nose. He handed him a tissue for his worries. "I think you're on to something about that lack of popularity with chicks, bro! You're a mess!" Matthew attempted to glare in response but with so much blood loss, he barely had the energy to do anything other than wishing. He wished for one of the two options to happen right then and there: let life take its course and have him bleed to death _or_ for his brother to suddenly not be perverse—hell, why not not even have Alfred as his brother?

Much to his dismay, nothing of the sort happened. What _did_ happen, however, was the sound of a sigh. Alfred's sigh. One that carried a hefty weight of pity. Matthew glanced up to the sigher and lo-and-behold, he saw sympathy in the form of a slight frown and actually serious, blue eyes.

". . . You're serious about this girl, aren't you?" Alfred asked, his voice low and expecting. Matthew's only available response was a low, wet-sounding groan. Thinking it wasn't enough of a way to say 'yes', he attempted to nod his head, only to fail. Alfred understood nonetheless. The next moment, he whipped out his cell phone, muttering, "Then we're gonna need backup. Normally, you would've been fine with just me but since it's _you_ we're talking about, this calls for a meeting." At first, the man lying on the ground said nothing. It was when Matthew just happened to muster up enough strength to push himself upright that his brother's theory happened to kick in.

"Wait, WHAT?!" That one outburst, combined with the nosebleed, did him in. His unconscious form flopped back down to the concrete, not able to hear or see Alfred's obnoxious laughter or prideful grin.


	2. Chapter 2

For as long as he could remember, Matthew had always wanted to be recognized, to be remembered. He longed for people to see him not as his loud, trouble-making brother but as a quiet, simple young man who had things to say. He wanted to be noticed as the representative of Canada, he wanted to sit down at the meetings and be counted, he wanted to have a seat and not be sat on. Really, was that so hard to ask for? Apparently yes, because none of these things ever seemed to happen. Most days after a long gathering (made hectic by his idiot brother's careless comments and proposals [read "demands"]) he would sigh and curl up in his living room and imagine a day or two where for just once the nations of the world would be able to actually _see_ him.

Gazing nervously around the gathered circle of tables, Matthew's mind pestered him to be careful for what he wished for. There were at least eight countries already there, and only that much probably because they (Arthur, Francis, Ivan, Ludwig, Yao, and Kiku) had been pestered by Alfred, whom managed to get Feliciano to join in the pestering as well. The strong implication that Alfred had tried to get more lingered horribly in the bottom of Matthew's stomach. It only deepened when the meeting began with a barrage of complaints and insults.

"What's so important that you called me in the middle of tiffin time, you dolt? Did you run out of Kit-Kats* again?" Arthur scoffed.

"We had our own plans!" Ludwig snapped, emphasizing his growing irritation by slamming a hand on the table.

"It's an actual emergency, I swear!" Alfred objected before more complaints could be made.

"_Everything_ is an emergency to you, dear fool," Francis crooned.

"I heard that! But luckily, it's such a big deal that me kicking your ass is going to have to wait!" the American said, characteristically hyper. "The reason I've ever-so awesomely gathered y'all here is because of this little wimpy ball of syrup right here!" He clapped a hand on Matthew's back, sending the latter into a small coughing fit. When he recovered, a small squeak emitted from him: everybody's eyes landed directly on him. A discomforting feeling washed over him at once. He gulped but couldn't muster up any words.

"Is his economy bad, aru?" Yao questioned.

Somehow, Matthew managed to deny, "N-no! M-my economy isn't t-the problem. There isn't even a p-problem! Nothing's going on. I'm so sorry, everyone, Alfred was just being weird . You can all go home no—"

"BZZZZZTTT! Wrong-o!" Alfred hollored as he delivered a playful (and quite painful) bonk to his sibling's head, striking the poor lad mute aside from the whimpers of pain he managed to push out. Alfred, in his typical oblivious manner, paid no attention to the curled ball of pained-brother on the ground next to him. Instead he grinned. "You're just embarrassed! No need to be—I'm the hero! And heroes _never_ let their fellow man suffer!"

"And just what is he suffering from?" Ivan asked. Matthew froze. His eyes immediately shot to Alfred's, a silent plea ringing out from them as loudly as eye would allow. Unfortunately, Matthew was never known for being loud in any way.

With a proud, goofy grin, Alfred announced, "Matty's got a girl problem!"

No sooner had he said that, the room was filled with a chorus of groans, curses, and the slaps of hands to migrained foreheads. The first to speak was, of course, Arthur.

"YOU CALLED US HERE FOR _THAT_?! YOU FREAKING GIT!" the Englishman yelled. It took everything he had not to punch his former ward.

"Alfred, we don't have time for such trivial matters as relationships, aru," Yao murmured, rubbing his temples.

"We could settle this with a pickaxe, ja?" Ivan wondered, his darkening aura betraying his childlike smile.

"Let him figure it out on his own, you twit! He's a big nation, he can handle it himself!" Ludwig barked.

"Weeehh? You like a girl?" chirped a familiar Italian accent. One that came suddenly by Matthew. Feliciano was nudging the Canadian before a response could be made, rapidly spewing out more questions. "Is she cute? Do you have her number? Have you kissed yet?"

"Feliciano, don't encourage such idiocy!" Ludwig commanded, striking one of Feliciano's many and extremely sensitive chords.

"B-but Ludwiiiigg! He's in love!"

"No buts! Even if that _is_ true, his personal life shouldn't rely on us!"

"How can you be so mean?!" The Italian and German went into their own little section of arguing while a soft cough was made. It was from Kiku.

"Alfred-san, I'm not sure this was a good idea," Kiku said. He was obviously trying to be somewhat neutral but with all the anger in the air, it was hard to get that through. The only one who didn't seem to be upset by this announcement was who else, but the Frenchman himself?

"Mon dieu! Matthew, is this true?" Francis cried, blue eyes a-gush with mirth. Matthew wasn't sure what to say.

"I-it's not _love_. J-just a simple admiration—"

"Pffft! Ha! Who're you tryin' to kid?" Alfred butted in. He turned his grin to Francis who was still waiting on an answer. "I found _this_ sonuvagun watching her from across the street. Ina _bush_!"

Francis gasped. "A love from afar! Fools! This _is_ an emergency! A fellow nation is in love but doesn't know how to give it to the lucky lady!"

Arthur's eyes rolled. "That's comparable to helping a diver fend off sharks by drenching him in blood. He doesn't need our help, he needs to just go out and confess to the girl already."

"You heartless fiend! The poor boy is drowning in Mer De L'Amor and you dare not throw him the lifesaver he so begs for? You would rather see him die in it! The feeling of love is strong, yes, but no one should have to suffer from it. Love is meant to be a beautiful, blissful feeling where one feels at ease. Of course . . . _you_ would know nothing about such a thing, would you?" Francis smirked.

"What was that, you git?!"

"You just sounded like a shoujo manga, Francis-san," Kiku quietly commented.

"Anyway, love is the most important feeling in the world, and as patron nation of this wonderful feeling, I will not stand for a client failing to achieve it. _Especially_ is that client holds my beautiful culture so close to him." Francis' eyes (which had previously been looking into a glittery, rose petal-filled world) immediately flew to the client in question. He wasted no time sprinting to his side and placing both hands on Matthew's shoulders before looking him dead in the eyes with sincere confidence. "Worry not, dear Matthew. I won't let that sensitive heart of you face fierce blows that could've been stopped. None of us will."

Matthew said nothing. He was either too weirded out by the situation, too creeped out, too nervous, or too speechless. Probably all four.

" . . . _Us_?" Yao questioned, eyes narrowing. He silently prayed that this love-obsessed idiot wasn't implying what he thought he was implying.

Francis only grinned up at Yao. "Oui. Nous," he simply replied.

"No! Nononononono! No! Don't drag us all into this, Frog. He just said he wasn't in love with her, so why force him into possible humiliation?" Arthur glared.

"Ohoho, ignorants anglais. You doubt too much."

"It's true," Ivan pitched in, shocking quite a few. "He really didn't say he _loved_ her; just that he was stalking her through a bush." (At that moment, Matthew's face burned red. He swore that if he ever got the courage to, he was going to sock Alfred in the mouth so that it would swell shut.)

It was then that Francis' smile faltered for a bit. He slowly turned back to Matthew. His eyes lost their romantic glimmer and stood a steady blue. "Matthew," he spoke in a quiet, serious tone, "do you love this girl?"

Matthew gulped. He knew he should've expected this question but he still felt himself caught off guard. He was sure that he had never seen the older nation this serious before. "W-well . . . That is to say—"

"Do you love her?" Francis repeated, sterner this time.

Matthew replied sheepishly, "I'm not exactly sure that it's _love_ but . . . I guess . . . I guess I really do like Aya." That was all the Frenchman needed to hear to have his smile slowly curled back up on his face.

"Then we shall _make _you love her. And her, you in return," he responded. He got up from his position by the Canadian and turned back to the other nations. "I believe that that's enough to go by, non? Not quite there but so close he can taste it. But since he's so uncertain, he's going to need our help. So we must join forces and create dear Matthew's perfect love with this Aya girl. Understood?"

"This isn't a war, Francis, you bloody git," Arthur sighed. He was beginning to get a huge migraine by just hearing this guy go on about love.

"Oh, contraire," Francis giggled, "love is a battlefield. And we are the soldiers, non? Now who is with me?" Nobody raised their hands. Well, except for Alfred, who wouldn't let the opportunity to snoop in his brother's love life pass him by. Francis uttered a low sigh. "I see. Then I suppose I'll have to use different means of persuasion. Anyone who joins me, I will supply future meeting with food, in contrast to the one who was _originally_ going to cater us." He nodded to a certain big-browed Brit. All hands but Arthur's shot up into the air. Francis smiled at his dirty victory and sang, "That's what I thought."

Arthur attempted to glare at everyone but with such a headache, he failed dreadfully. All he could muster was a groan and a single sentence: " I hope you know what you're doing, Francis."

"I do, I do," Francis assured. The translation ran through his rival's head; something along the lines of, "I haven't a clue!"

Meanwhile, Alfred stood up from his seat in a proud manner. His work here was done. "Then it's settled! I'm the hero! Aren't you happy that I had this meeting for you?" He expected to see an ecstatic brother when he turned to the seat next to him. However, his eyes became tinted with confusion as they were laid on something that was similar in appearance to a man but cloaked in a cloud of gloom so thick, he wasn't quite sure what it was. Inside that gloom-cloud was a despaired and drained Matthew Williams.

_What did I get myself into?!_ he wanted to scream. But alas, he had no energy. Even if he did, he would never be heard above the insults and yells being tossed between Arthur and Francis. Apparently, the nation of Canada didn't have a say in meetings evenwhen they pertained to _him_! And all this would have never happened, had he not been caught in a bush, stalking admiring his crush from afar by Alfred F. Jones.


	3. Update Apology

I am sososososososo sorry for not updating as frequently as I had hoped I would! I hate using excuses but it appears I must: at first, it was because my senior year started with some . . . issues that left me irritated and not in a mood to write the fluffy and funny things that _Hetalia_ is composed of. Soon afterward, I was faced with more drama. I got better and began writing again but then—it's senior year. Which means I needed to settle down on colleges and make deadlines. So while I still skimmed stories, I had to spend most of my time writing essays and reviewing colleges, scheduling last minute visits, and getting recommendations and transcripts sent out. So that took up a lot of time. Plus, my first trimester of school is mainly academics. But the next tri has a few more electives so I will probably have more free time, then. Expect updates from me, soon! Once again, I'm sorry for not updating!


End file.
